


Lady and the Guard

by thisgirlnani



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-12 14:22:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11738844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisgirlnani/pseuds/thisgirlnani
Summary: Constantly having to be the ever-proper daughter of Lord Eddard Stark is exhausting. So, one night, Sansa gives her bodyguard, Jon Snow, the slip.And then immediately regrets her decision.Ch. 2: Sansa attends a gala with Harry Hardyng to make Jon jealous, and she succeeds.





	1. Chapter 1

Sansa has never felt more uneasy dialing a number, as she has now, standing in a phone booth, in the middle of god knows where, using some spare change a waitress gave her. She stares at the 10 digits, triple-checking to make sure the numbers are correct, before gulping down a breath and pressing ‘SEND’.

It rings only once before she hears his voice. “This is Snow.” He sounds thoroughly exhausted, and the guilt hits her like a punch to the stomach.

She exhales hard, feeling the tears well up, but pulling herself together to reply, “Jon, it’s me.”

There’s a long pause on the other end, and she almost stops to check if the call has disconnected before she hears him swear. “Where the hell are you?” His voice is taut with tension, and she knows, if she could see him now, his knuckles would be white with frustration, and his forehead would be creased with worried wrinkles.

“I’m on Lombard Ave and 2nd.” Her voice is small, trying not to raise his hackles even more. “Can you get me? Don’t send Sandor. He reports everything to Dad and I can’t have-“

Jon cuts her off, “I’ll be there in fifteen. Find a well-lit area with people around, and don’t move.” With that, he hangs up and Sansa follows his instructions dutifully, sitting outside a nearby pub on a wooden bench. Plenty of people mill by, but none of them seem to notice Lord Eddard Stark’s daughter sitting by herself, instead of at home, like a proper Lord’s daughter should.

A gust of wind comes sweeping through, and Sansa’s choice in fashion seems especially poor at the moment. Her faux leather shorts and cropped shirt do nothing to shield her against the weather, and as she’s shivering on a wet bench at 2 AM in the morning, she hates herself more than anything. 

Her little stint at the club, although hours ago, it seems like only seconds have passed, since she angrily stalked over to her ex, drunk off of 8 shots of bad vodka. Arya had pulled her away, but not before she’d recited every curse word from the Oxford dictionary and splashed a cocktail into Joffrey Baratheon’s smug face.

From there, Arya had taken her to the bathroom, patiently pulling back her hair, while she vomited all her sorrows down the toilet. 

“I’m sorry, Arya.” Sansa had babbled. “We were supposed to be celebrating you! And I messed it all up, it’s all messed up and this is shit. This is the shittiest of the shit.”

Her little sister, scoffed. “Don’t be stupid, Sansa. That was the most excitement I’ve had in weeks. Granted, I don’t like this part-“she gestured to the vomit on the rim of the toilet, “But, you can’t have everything, can you?” she shrugged. “I’ll get Gendry and then we can leave, yeah? Stay here.”

Drunk Sansa did not listen, and drunk Sansa had proceeded to leave the club. She’d seen Jon hovering by the restroom door, as she exited, but she’d managed to slip away once he was looking in the opposite direction. It all felt very giddy and exhilarating, but as she sobered up, the feeling quickly left her. Now, all she felt was tired, achy, and her head was pounding as though someone had taken cymbals and was clashing them over and over above her head.

She moaned into her hands, replaying every moment in excruciating detail. God, she had behaved like a reprobate! 'A perfect lady at three years old'. That was what her mother had always said of her, and if Catelyn Stark had seen how her perfect lady had behaved tonight, she would have fainted on sight. 

Sansa wallows in her misery, and after a good ten minutes of internal loathing, she spots the Stark-issue, black, Range Rover in the distance. She doesn’t stand, just in case it isn’t Jon, because she knows Jon will be able to spot her either way. Sure enough, the car stops right in front of here, and an angry Jon Snow, comes out of the driver’s seat. He’s still dressed in his suit uniform, and she wonders if he’s been up all night, waiting to hear from her.

Jon notices her shivering immediately and mutters a quiet ‘Jesus Christ’ under his breath before draping his suit jacket over her shoulders. 

“Thanks, Jon.” She murmurs. Her throat gets thick, trying to issue an apology without crying. “Look, I’m really sorry I-“

“Get in the car, Sansa.” He says tersely, although he doesn’t look directly at her. In fact, it seems he’s trying to look anywhere but at her. She nods, and goes around the car, to get into the passenger seat, and just a few seconds later, he joins her in the driver’s seat.

They both stare straight ahead, before Sansa dares to peek over at her bodyguard. He’s texting somebody, and Sansa guesses that somebody to be the Stark’s head of security, Eddison Tollett. She can make out one of the messages, ‘Got her, heading back now.’ 

Jon heaves in a deep breath, “One of these days, I’m going to kill you, Sansa Stark.”

“That’s kind of the opposite of your job, isn’t it?” Sansa snarks back. 

Immediately, Jon’s jaw tightens and he looks heavenward, as if trying to praying for some semblance of sanity. Sansa has never made Jon’s job easy. Lord knows Rickon and Bran’s guards don’t have to go through half the things she puts Jon through. Cleaning up after her drunken escapades, making sure she doesn’t get grabbed by press, and picking her up outside strange pubs, are just a few of Jon’s duties. 

She’d had her doubts when they’d first met, scoffing to her father that she’d seen benched high-school football players bigger than Jon. However, Jon quickly proved her wrong that night, grabbing a photographer that had gotten too close to her and ushered her inside the paparazzi-swarmed limo, all without breaking a sweat. Even Sandor, had let out an impressed whistle at his display of strength. Since then, he’d been with her for 2 years.

In a weird way, Jon’s moved from family employee to family friend in those 2 years. Robb loves the shit out of Jon, always inviting him out for drinks with Theon, despite their mother’s protests at the unprofessionalism of it all. Jon even goes to Arya’s fencing matches, and Rickon’s competition days when they match up with his days off. 

He’s tried (and failed) to be the most distant with her, but for good reason. There’s a clear distinction of where they should stand. She’s his employer and he is her bodyguard, there’s no room for friendship or anything in between. That line has clear boundaries, but it hasn’t stopped Sansa and Jon from stepping over it on multiple occasions.

“Why did you run away?”

Sansa pulls his jacket closer to her body, feeling small underneath his stare. “You know why,” she replies, softly. “I see him, and all rationale leaves me. I become angry, irrational, and I just needed some space, so I left.”

His gray eyes soften imperceptibly, and she sees the anger ebb and flow out of his face. How could he be angry? Not when she had confided in him the things Joffrey had said and done to her. He was the only one she’d told, because she had wanted to tell somebody desperately, but couldn’t find the courage to tell one of her siblings, she was afraid of the disappointment, the ‘I-told-you-so’s and the judgement. Jon had given her none of that. That was the nice thing about Jon; there was never any expectations with him. He had only nodded after every sentence and when she was done, he let her soak the front of his crisp, white shirt in tears.

“My job is to protect you, remember?” His hand comes up to cradle her cheek, and she nods silently into his warm touch. At the back of her mind, she’s pretty sure that this has crossed another line somewhere, but she pushes that thought away. “Joffrey can’t do anything to you.” His tone is solemn and firm, and in that moment she truly does feel as though nothing can harm her.

“The next time, you need to run away-” He pauses, obviously searching for the right words. “Just tell me. I’ll drive you anywhere you want to go. We can even go egg the Lannister mansion if it makes you feel better.” He adds the last part with a boyish grin, as though it’s been something he’s been wanting to do as well.

A giggle escapes her lips, “Is it a deal?” 

Jon extends his hand, “It’s a deal.” 

It’s then that she notices a purplish bruise forming on the bridge of his knuckles. “Jon!” she gasps, “What happened?” He follows her eye-line and tries, stupidly, to hide his hand from her sight, as though it will make the discoloration fade. 

“It’s nothing.” He shakes his head, hastily.

“Jon. What. Happened.” The words come out sharper than she intended, but the bruise is pretty ghastly, and she hopes to dear God that he’s not going to say what she thinks he’s going to say.

He clears his throat. “I punched Joffrey.” When Sansa only gapes at him, he continues sheepishly. “You disappeared, and I thought he’d done something! So I-”

“You punched him.” Sansa finishes, faintly. He looks so adorably embarrassed, his face a touch pink as he scrubs at his stubble. In this moment, she’s never been more glad that her father assigned Jon Snow to her. When she was little, he would always tease he’d find her a prince who was ‘brave, gentle, and strong’ and somehow, he’s managed to deliver on his promises, like always.

Jon turns to her and asks sheepishly, “Are you angry with me?”

Sansa laughs lightly, and leans forward to brush her lips against his cheek. He tenses, initially, as he always does, and then he melts into her touch, exhaling hard with a quiet swear.

“I could never be.” she promises.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really a direct continuation, but another chapter in this verse of Jon being Sansa's bodyguard in modern society! Hope you enjoy :)

I’m going to the Hardyng Gala with Harry.” Sansa announces at Sunday brunch. The Stark family is gathered at their usual table at Versailles, sun streaming in through the open windows, illuminating the varied reactions around the table.

Arya speaks first, her mouth half-chewing a piece of bacon. “Harry Hardyng? You mean the absolute idiot that Robb always used to beat in track?” She shares a snicker with Robb, but Sansa ignores it with her lips set in a prim line.

“Sans, Harry, really?”  Robb stuff his mouth with a piece of pancake. “The guy’s kind of a tool.”

Rickon perks up. “What’s a tool?”

Bran pinches Rickon’s nose affectionately. “None of your business, Rickon. Eat your eggs.”

Her mother, on the other hand, gasps in pure excitement. “Oh Sansa, that’s wonderful! The Hardyngs are a wonderful family! Have you chosen a gown yet?” The Stark matriarch is all aglow, and Sansa can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. The only person that has fantasized more about Sansa’s marriage, is her mother. 

Sansa nods slowly. “I just chose it the other day with Marg, I’ll pick it up soon, so you can see it, mum.” She makes a mental note to actually choose a dress, and takes a sip of her tea.

Catelyn beams, “Oh, I can’t wait. You’re going to look absolutely gorgeous together. Maybe if everything goes well, he can be your date to Robb’s wedding.”

Arya chokes on a scone. “Robb, if he comes, you _have_ to wear your track medals with your wedding tux.” She implores. Catelyn shoots her youngest daughter a dark look. “What?” her sister scoffs. “Have you spoken to him, mum? He’s an absolute dunce.”

“That’s not for you to decide.” Their mother frowns. “The boy is perfectly fine. He’s mannered and quite handsome. Right Sansa?”

Sansa gives a half-hearted nod. The Hardying heir _is_ classically good-looking, but Arya isn’t wrong either. It’s as if the Gods above invested all their time in making sure their creation was appealing physically, and then grew weary and forgot to give him a personality entirely. However, she’d dealt with much worse. So, the past weekend when she had gone clubbing and ran into the tall blonde, she accepted his offer with a shrug. It didn’t matter much. She knew it would irritate Jon, and that made it all the more appealing.

Speaking of her bodyguard, she eyes him in her periphery as he stands at attention, removed from the table, but close enough that he has no doubt heard the past half hour of conversation. It’s not her most mature hour, accepting a date just to make him jealous, but she can’t bring herself to be the bigger person after the conversation that they had the past week.

Sansa turns around in her chair to beckon him over. He looks delicious in his suit, as always, but there’s a sharp annoyance in his eyes as he grudgingly makes his way over.

Jon leans down, and he whispers bitingly in her ear, “I know what you’re doing.”

She shrugs delicately. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” In a louder voice she instructs, “Have the car ready in fifteen.”

He nods, his face smoothing into a neutral expression. “Of course.” The words come out bright and artificial. “Anything, else Miss Stark?”

Sansa suppresses a scowl. She’ll deal with him later. Instead, she throws him back a fake smile of her own. “That’s all.” She replies, stabbing her omelet with unnecessary force. Catelyn raises an eyebrow at the clattering noise, but lets it be.

When brunch is finished, Sansa kisses her father and mother on the cheeks, promising to be back at the house in a couple of hours.

Eddard Stark looks sternly over at Jon, “Keep a close eye on her.” He says, gruffly. Sansa fights back a grin. Jon’s had no problem in the past keeping close to her, alright, her father didn’t need to worry about that.

Jon pales and nods quickly. “Of course, Lord Stark.”

Once they’re in the car, Jon drops all pretenses. “Harry Hardying is an idiot.” He grouses, keeping his stare, straight ahead.

Sansa only laughs. “Jealous, are you?” She leans back in the seat with a smug smile.

“You’re an open book, Sansa.” He makes a turn, his eyes still attentively on the road. “There’s no reason for me to be jealous, when I know the only reason you agreed was to get back at me.”

She shrugs, pulling down the car mirror to re-apply her lipstick. “I don’t know, he is _really_ cute. I hear he’s good in bed too, so that’s a plus if it gets that far.” She watches him carefully now. He nearly grimaces, and his nostrils flare in irritation, much to her own satisfaction.

A heavy pause fills the car, “So, I take it you’re still angry with me about, last week.” He sounds defeated and tired. “It just isn’t right for us to – do what we’ve been doing.”

Sansa is gutted by how ashamed he sounds. “If you never wanted to have that kind of relationship with me, you should have said something before things got complicated.” Her voice sounds composed and icy cool, but her insides feel like she’s being set on fire.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes hard. “You’re not exactly easy to say no to.”

“Why?” She snaps. “You didn’t want to lose your job? It wasn’t blackmail, Jon. That first time I kissed you, I _asked_ you. I said we could pretend it never happened.” She throws her hands up in exasperation. “You kissed me back!”

“I know.” He grits out, tersely, refusing to look at her. “And for that, I hate myself. Your father doesn’t hire me to make out with you in dark corners of the club, Sansa. He hires me to protect you.”

“Well, you managed juggling both, perfectly. I don’t know what you’re saying.” She sniffs petulantly.

Jon continues driving, ignoring her words, though he can’t hide the slight quirk in his lips.

* * *

 

On the night of the Hardyng gala, Sansa is dressed resplendently in a lavish Elie Saab, olive green gown that flutters around her with every step she takes in the ballroom.

Hardyng takes one look at her, and though there is definite lust in his eyes, all his brain manages to conjure is, “Wow. Looking good.” She’s pretty sure she hears Jon give a loud snort of derision behind her, but she ignores him and instead smiles brightly, offering to dance with her date.

After one dance, though, she tires of her partner. He steps gracefully enough, but he can’t hold a conversation and Sansa finds herself suppressing a yawn mid-way through a story of how Harry managed to invest in a start-up company from the Bay area. She grits her teeth together, and breaks her gaze with Harry to eye Jon across the room, who is staring, steadily back at her.

Sansa is all sorts of relieved when the strings cease, and she claps politely and pecks a quick kiss on Harry’s cheek and tells him that she needs the Lady’s room. Instead she makes a bee-line for Jon.

“God, I need a drink.” She mutters, as she moves past him. He follows dutifully, and they move out to one of the empty balconies. She hails down one of the waiters passing by, and grabs two flutes of champagne. Downing the first, and then handing the second one to Jon.

“That’s for you.” Sansa breathes, relaxing against the marble railing.

Jon eyes the champagne, “Tempting, but no. No drinking on the job remember?” He fixes the sleeves of his suit, before crossing his arms. God, he wears a suit so well, it’s terribly distracting, because that’s all he ever wears around her. It was fun when they were messing around, but now that he’s broken things off, it’s become just plain infuriating.

She rolls her eyes. “Always such a boy scout. Do you ever have fun, Jon Snow?”

His lips press tightly together. “Not all of us find stringing along random heirs, fun, Sansa.” He says, wryly, nodding towards Harry who is already preoccupied with another girl. It doesn’t bother her, she’s basically doing the same thing, right now, standing here with Jon, and wishing she could be under him instead.

“Point taken.” She goes ahead and downs the second flute of champagne. “I only did it to make you jealous.” She confesses, already a bit tipsy from the alcohol. She was always such a lightweight. “But you knew that.”

“I did.” He chuckles.

“Did it work?” She teases, drawing closer towards Jon now. He hesitates, at her touch, and regret goes through her now. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. Jon has made it clear he wants nothing more to do with her romantically. But she’s oh-so-deprived of him. He makes her feel secure, and warm, and happy, something none of her boyfriends before ever made her feel even half of. She wants to let go of him, but the fact that he spends nearly every waking moment with her makes it terribly hard to even contemplate forgetting his touches.

“It did.” Jon admits.

She blinks twice, registering his words. He definitely hasn’t had anything to drink, so his word choice is definitely not impaired. “So you still care about me?” Sansa’s words come out, near accusingly.

“I do.”

“Can you stop giving me 2-word responses?”

Jon scrubs at his beard. “I care about you.” He sighs deeply. “But it’s wrong to have feelings for you when I’m on your detail, Sansa. You know your father would hate it, he’d think I’d taken advantage of you, and sometimes, it feels like that’s exactly what I’ve done.”

“Well,” Sansa smiles wickedly. “I have a solution.” Jon only looks confused, so she continues with a cat-like grin. “I had father move you to Robb’s detail, since the two of you get along so well. Starting Monday, you’re not my guard.”

“What?” Jon splutters. “Who will replace me?”

“Brienne!” She says cheerily. “Robb doesn’t appreciate her nearly enough. So I thought I’d take her for myself.” Sansa grabs Jon’s hand and pulls him to the side of the balcony, so they’re partly hidden by the heavy curtains. “What do you say to that, Jon Snow?”

“I say,” Jon smirks. “I guess, there’s no issue now in making out with you in dark corners, then.” He declares, his lips already mouthing little kisses down the column of her neck.

“Agreed.” Sansa sighs, happily.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so much for all the love for 'Woman in Doubt'!!! I'd always wanted to do a bodyguard AU for jonsa, and you guys all motivated me with your kind words!! Thank you again :)


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